


What I Always Knew

by butterflyslinky



Category: Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 14:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15559389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflyslinky/pseuds/butterflyslinky
Summary: Alistair always knew that soulmates were ridiculous.He just didn't realize how ridiculous his own would be.





	What I Always Knew

Soulmates. Such a silly concept. Ridiculous, even, to expect that a name on the wrist would mean anything.

Especially when the name was something as ludicrous as Doctor.

Alistair had never known what it meant, and frankly he didn’t care. He had his career, his dedication to Queen and Country, and quite frankly he was insulted that he didn’t just have “England” on his wrist. That at least would have made sense.

And then a ridiculous little man stumbled into his life, another ridiculous little man in tow, and suddenly Alistair…

Was even more confused. Because he did catch a glimpse of both wrists, and the Doctor had “Jamie” written clear as day on his, just as clear as the “Doctor” written on Jamie’s.

They were so obviously well-matched, so perfect together, and while Alistair felt a slight pull to the odd little man, it wasn’t the all-encompassing _need_ people always described on meeting their soulmates.

He didn’t understand, and quite frankly, he had more important things on his mind.

*

The man lying on the bed was not the Doctor. This fellow was tall, and white-haired, unconscious and…

And Alistair felt it, the moment he stepped into the hospital room. Like he was being dragged by a rope to the man’s side, the word on his wrist burning, sparking into life.

“Is it the Doctor?”

Alistair didn’t answer. Instead, he went to the man and very gently pulled up his sleeve, revealing the word had changed with everything else.

_Alistair._

“Yes,” he finally said. “It is the Doctor.”

*

“So.”

“So.”

They didn’t look at each other. Things had calmed down, Miss Shaw had retired for the day, and Alistair and the Doctor finally had a moment alone.

“I am clearly meant to be with you, Brigidier,” the Doctor finally said.

“I know.” Alistair glanced at him. “Does it change with your face?”

The Doctor nodded, looking a bit sad. “My first two were Ian and Barbara,” he said. “Both of them…we were a triad. And then…you met Jamie.” He swallowed, rubbing his wrist a bit. “I can’t imagine what he’s going through…they erased his memory, you know…he’ll wake up to find his mark has faded and he won’t have ever known…”

Alistair blinked. “That’s…”

“Yes.”

They were quiet again. “And now?” Alistair asked.

“Now, I suppose I’m your Doctor.” The Doctor smiled a bit and took Alistair’s hand. “And after you will be someone else.”

Alistair grasped the Doctor’s hand for a moment. “I hope not for a long time.”

*

“But how do you know he’s your Doctor?”

Alistair gave Benton a harsh look. “How do you know Captain Yates is your Michael?”

Benton lowered his head. “Yes, sir…I’m sorry sir.”

Alistair softened a bit. “It’s…I don’t know how to explain it,” he said. “But I could feel it…I regret not asking Jamie about it, but…”

“Well…if you’re happy, sir.”

Alistair hummed, but said nothing more.

*

This Doctor was the most infuriating man Alistair had ever known. Pompous, too clever, more talking and less doing than Alistair liked.

And he came with the Master, who seemed sore to see the Doctor and Alistair together, side by side even as they bickered, seeing the marks when their sleeves rode up. Maybe that’s why the man kept coming back.

But in spite of their harsh words and small glares, Alistair was _happy._ Finally, here was someone who could challenge him. Here was someone who was his perfect match, even if he was absolutely infuriating.

And if Alistair’s irritation sometimes turned into more, that was no one’s affair but theirs, teeth clashing as they kissed in fury, hands grappling with each other in both a fight and a caress in the hours when the other soldiers were far away. The Doctor gave as good as he got, pressing Alistair into walls, biting in both love and anger, the tables in the lab often being cleared all at once to make space.

UNIT was spending more on replacement lab equipment than the budget really allowed, but Alistair couldn’t bring himself to care.

It wasn’t all frustration, though. Sometimes—very rarely—there would be softer moments. Times when the men were all gone, when Miss Shaw and later Miss Grant had gone home, when Alistair could steal a moment or two with his Doctor, leaning on his shoulder, or with the Doctor having fallen asleep with his head on Alistair’s knee. In those moments, the fire of their relationship calmed, became an ember, soft but still bright.

Alistair didn’t want to say he loved the Doctor, but he did. And though the Doctor never said it either, Alistair knew the feeling was returned.

*

Sarah Jane Smith was a lovely girl. Vivacious, determined, beautiful.

And Alistair could see her wrist just as he had seen Jamie’s.

He didn’t try to get in the way of it, even as fear twisted in his stomach. He knew how it worked now—that when the Doctor died, got a new face, he got a new name as well. That his Doctor would one day bear the name of someone else, someone who wasn’t Alistair.

He didn’t say anything to Sarah Jane, or the Doctor. It would be impractical to grieve a man who wasn’t dead yet. Perhaps it was only conjecture. Fate, after all, was never set in stone. Perhaps his Doctor wouldn’t die, and Sarah Jane would spend her life waiting for hers. Perhaps Sarah Jane’s Doctor would come and take her to the stars and leave Alistair’s Doctor to him.

Maybe Alistair wouldn’t have to be alone. Maybe it would never be over for them.

It was selfish, yes, but after giving his whole life to England, Alistair wanted to be selfish.

*

He still wasn’t prepared for it.

Alistair could feel it, the moment the Doctor was dealt the final blow. He waited, watching the words on his wrist, just waiting for them to turn silver and tell him it was over.

The Doctor still came back. Stumbled into his lab, weak and injured, and Alistair could feel it, could feel his soul tearing in two as Sarah Jane laid the Doctor down. He couldn’t bring himself to kneel beside the Doctor, couldn’t so much as touch him. He could only watch as Sarah Jane did what he should have done and comforted the Doctor as he died.

The Doctor’s face changed, grew young and handsome. Worthy of Sarah Jane. But Alistair wasn’t watching the Doctor’s face. He was watching his exposed wrist, seeing “Alistair” vanish.

And sure enough, “Sarah Jane” appeared in its place, as though being written by a fountain pen.

He waited until they were gone, the Doctor in the sickbay and Sarah Jane off to work, before he dared look at his own wrist again to see his mark had faded to silver, a sure sign that his Doctor was dead, that he would never see his soulmate again.

*

But he did see him again.

Alistair had been dragged out of his home to spend the day going through caves with the Doctor—not his Doctor, but the one before. Trying to defeat some alien menace who couldn’t be killed with a bullet. Alistair didn’t care which one—they were all the same after a while.

But then it was over, and they were with every other Doctor, and there was _his,_ standing next to Sarah Jane, every bit as tall and arrogant and perfect as he had always been.

When the dust had settled and everyone was ready to go, Alistair glanced at Jamie’s Doctor. “I…may I go with your successor?” he asked.

The shorter of them smiled softly. “Of course,” he said. “Go to him, Brigidier…I’m sure he misses you too.”

Alistair nodded and turned back, walking toward his Doctor as though in a dream.

His Doctor smiled at him. “Alistair…you’re older.”

“It’s…” Alistair faltered, for the first time in his life. “It’s been a long time.”

The Doctor nodded, looking a bit sad. “So…you’ve lost me.”

Alistair nodded and pulled back his sleeve. The Doctor looked at the silver mark for a long moment. “I’m sorry.”

“No need,” Alistair said. “I knew it would happen.” He nodded at Sarah Jane, standing awkwardly nearby.

Sarah Jane cleared her throat. “I’ll be in my room,” she said, and fled into the TARDIS.

The Doctor turned back. “I hope you’re happy…even without me.”

“I am,” Alistair said. “I have a wife…she lost hers as well, and we’ve…we’ve rebuilt a life together. I love her...and…and I miss you, but…”

“I know.” The Doctor held out his hand. “Shall we?”

Alistair took the offered hand and followed his Doctor into the TARDIS.

And if they took a little bit longer getting home than necessary, no one needed to know.

*

The last time he saw the Doctor, it was a new Doctor. This one was small, and cunning, with the name “Dorothy” on his wrist.

But Alistair still knew him at once, still felt the very slight pull he had felt the first time.

“How did you know it was me?” the Doctor asked.

Alistair only smiled. “I always know it’s you.”


End file.
